Club Abbott: The Wedding (Club Abbott Series #3)

by Hazel Kelly

  “No,” she said. “But I don’t know Wyatt Jones from the Mudruckers either, and I’ve spent countless nights imagining that my hand was his.”

  I furrowed my brow. “What ever happened to him?”

  She shrugged and started unwrapping her sandwich.

  I slipped mine out of its paper bag and did the same. “I didn’t realize you had such a thing for guys with long hair.”

  She cocked her head. “Huh. I suppose I do.”

  “I think this is the one with no onions,” I said, pushing my sandwich towards her.

  “Oh, thanks,” she said, pulling the paper under it her way. “I hope my clients appreciate the lengths I go to so they have a pleasant visit.”

  “I’m sure they do.” I pushed some hair out of my face and wondered if Ben played any instruments. I suppose based on what Ella said, if he did, he did it well. “Do you think the fetish for long hair is because of the sterile environment you work in? Maybe it makes you crave things that seem grimy.”

  She shook her head and covered her mouth so she could talk while she chewed. “No. Cause then I would be drawn to nasty teeth, and I definitely can’t stand anything but a set of pearly whites.”

  I squinted at her. “And yet you spend your days making people’s gums bleed.”

  She nodded. “I know. Sometimes I think I didn’t think this through.”

  I took a big bite that had a juicy jalapeno hanging out of it.

  Brook swallowed and licked her teeth. “I think it’s just cause I’m jealous of everyone with luscious hair.”

  I craned my neck back. “But you have lovely hair.”

  She rolled her eyes. “So does my neighbor’s dog, but I don’t feel compelled to play with it.”

  “The grass is always greener, eh?”

  “The other day I watched one of those tutorials on YouTube where some fresh faced Seventeen model tries to teach you to do an amazing triple fishtail braid that sweeps over your head in three easy steps.”

  I leaned back in my chair.

  “And I was nearly suicidal by the end of it.”

  “Did you at least figure out the braid?”

  “No, but I figured out how to make my hair look like an uninhabitable bird’s nest in forty six easy steps.”

  I laughed. “I don’t know why we can’t all just agree to wear our hair up, down, or half up?”

  She raised her eyebrows and froze with her sandwich halfway to her mouth. “Because then women would have one less thing to feel inadequate about.”

  “Oh right. That would be a terrible shame.”

  “I have figured out how to do the ponytail where your hair looks like a bow.”

  “Which would be so cute if you were fourteen.”

  “I know, right?”

  “Except when you were fourteen, you probably forgot to brush your hair half the time.”

  She shrugged. “I like to think my mind was filled with grander things.”

  “Perhaps it still is.”

  “Speaking of grand, congrats on scoring that deal to do the club.”

  I smiled. “Thanks.”

  “I look forward to free entry on opening night.”

  I wiped the corner of my mouth with my napkin. “I’m sure that can be arranged.”

  “How’s the client? Easy? Nice?”

  “More like devastatingly handsome and filthy rich.”

  She raised her eyebrows. “Seriously?”

  “I wish I were joking. It would certainly make it easier to do my job.”

  “Albeit less fun.”

  “Yeah.”

  “And interesting for me.”

  “Decidedly.”

  “So?” she asked. “What exactly does the project entail?”

  I shrugged. “All the normal stuff. Researching layouts that create space and maximize capacity, dealing with buyers to furnish everything, going blind looking at different styles of chandeliers.”

  She nodded.

  “And pretending to be his girlfriend at his dad’s wedding.”

  She straightened in her seat and covered her full mouth. “What?”

  “Which is a little unusual for me.”

  She licked her lips. “What do you mean pretend?”

  “I mean, I go as his date to the wedding for real, but I pretend we’re in a committed relationship.”

  “Why on Earth would you agree to that?”

  “Because it’s going to be the biggest Christmas party in town, and it will be an unmissable networking opportunity for me.”

  She squinted.

  “And because I can’t think straight around him cause he’s literally too sexy for words.”

  “Shit.”

  “Yeah.”

  “What if you don’t pull off the charade?”

  I shook my head at my sandwich and picked up a stray jalapeno from the crumb covered paper wrapper in front of me. “Oh I’m pretty sure I already pulled it off,” I said, popping it in my mouth.

  Brook craned her neck forward. “I’m listening.”

  “Turns out his dad’s fiancé wants me to be a bridesmaid.”

  “What?!”

  “Because that only makes perfect sense, right?”

  “What the hell, Carrie.”

  I scrunched my face.

  “How soon is the wedding?”

  “Two weeks.”

  “Oh. My god.”

  “I know.”

  She blew air out from between her lips. “At least you don’t have to pretend for months.”

  I nodded. “Yeah, though I suppose it wouldn’t matter. It’s not like I’m trying to date anyone right now.”

  “Except for this guy you’re pretending to date.”

  I shook my head. “No. We’re just helping each other out. It’s a good opportunity for me, and he needs a date with no strings.”

  Brook took a deep breath.

  “What?”

  “I get that you’re already committed to doing this, but I can’t say I think it’s a good idea.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because you just went through a complete mind fuck after what piss face did to you.”

  I loved when she refused to speak his name. It reminded me what a true friend she was. “So?”

  “So I don’t really think it’s the best time to be playing games with matters of the heart.”

  “It’s not a matter of the heart. It’s strictly business.”

  “Really?”

  I nodded. “Yeah.”

  “And have you thought about how far you might have to go to convince people that you’re in a relationship?”

  “No.”

  “Well?”

  “Well what?”

  “How far would you go?”

  I sighed. As far as I was concerned, I’d already gone to the end of the line. The question she should’ve been asking- if I didn’t feel like too big of an idiot to be honest with her- was how far would I be willing to go again.

  “Carrie, you really need to know what you’re boundaries are before you go to this wedding.”

  “Why? Seems to me this is the first time in years that I haven’t been burdened by boundaries.”

  She lifted a hand towards me. “Fair enough. I only mention it because I don’t want you to get hurt.”

  “Boundaries don’t keep you from getting hurt.”

  “Maybe not, but playing love birds with prince charming- especially when he happens to be your client- sounds like a dangerous game.”

  “It’s fine,” I said. “I know what I’m doing.”

  But I could tell by the look on her face that she didn’t believe me any more than I did.

  Chapter 8: Ben

  It felt like it had been ages since I’d seen her, even though it had only been a few days.

  I couldn’t help but wonder if what happened between us at the club the other night was running through her mind like it was running through mine, and I was curious what it would be like to see her again- now th
at I’d seen so much of her.

  Though the fact that I hadn’t seen her tits was weighing pretty heavily on my mind.

  But it was only a matter of time.

  When I opened the door to her office, her assistant stood up from behind the front desk, her eyes lined with a surprising amount of eyeliner. Then again, maybe she was going out after work, which was encouraging.

  After all, people that partied on Tuesday were exactly the kind of people I was going to need in hoards to stay in business.

  “Mr. Abbott,” she said. “What a pleasant surprise.”

  “Call me Ben.”

  “Whatever you want.”

  I extended my hand over the desk. “I don’t believe we’ve been formally introduced.”

  “Nora,” she said, her cheeks turning a slightly deeper shade of pink.

  “It’s a pleasure.”

  “I’ll let Carrie know you’re here.”

  “No need,” I said, lowering my hand towards her so she would sit back down. “She’s expecting me.” It was a lie, of course, but I wanted to see the expression on her face when she saw me. Not the face she made when she had due warning.

  “Okay.” She glanced down at the phone on her desk. “She’s not on the phone or anything so just knock first.”

  I nodded and unbuttoned my coat on the way to the door. Then I tapped it with the back of two bent fingers.

  “Yeah?”

  I turned the handle and pushed it open.

  Carrie was bent over a mess of papers with two pens sticking out of her hair and one between her teeth. When she looked up and saw me, the pen in her mouth fell to her desk, momentarily blocking the view I had of the dark recess at the top of her blouse.

  She straightened up. “Ben.”

  I smiled and stepped inside, closing the door behind me.

  “Hi.”

  “Hi,” I said, admiring her from afar. Her blond hair was up in a loose bun, but half a dozen wisps fell around her face. And along with the combination of her black top and her red pencil skirt, well, I couldn’t have looked away for anything.

  “You should’ve called.”

  “So many times, I know.” And I thought about it, I did. Every fucking night I thought about it while I wondered if she was sleeping alone, if she was in just a t-shirt or wore matching pajamas, whether she slept curled in a ball or on her back, whether her eyelashes fluttered as she dreamt… “But can’t a guy drop in and surprise his girlfriend at the end of the day?”

  She squinted at me. “Save it for the wedding.”

  I took a few steps towards her, slipped my coat off, and laid it over the back of the chair across from her desk. “I heard you and Ella have been seeing each other behind my back.”

  “Just the once.”

  “Even so, it sounds like I’m not the only one who fell for you instantly.”

  She cocked her head. “Sorry?”

  “Word on the street is that you’re going to be a bridesmaid.”

  She sighed and ran her hand over her head. When she hit the pens, her eyes went wide, and she pulled them out of her hair and laid them quickly on the desk. “She’s very persuasive.”

  “I know.”

  “But it should be fun.”

  I smiled. “I’m sure it will be.” I walked around her large desk, trailing my fingers along the edge of it.

  “What exactly are you doing here?” she asked, trying in vain to hold her ground as I entered her personal space.

  “I’ve come to take your measurements.”

  “What?”

  “Sorry.” I shook my head. “I mean take you to get your measurements taken.”

  “You’re not making any sense.”

  “I’m taking you to get fitted for your dress,” I said, reaching a hand out and sliding it around her hip.

  She inhaled so sharply I felt the air move around my face. “But it’s the middle of the workday.”

  “No it’s not. It’s the end, and you’re the boss.”

  She turned her head towards a small gold clock on her desk, confirming what I’d already told her.

  “Plus,” I said, sliding my other hand around her opposite hip. “Making sure your dress fits perfectly is part of your job.”

  “What are you doing?” she whispered.

  I pulled her hips against me. “Don’t you think this is easier if we stay in character?”

  She looked up at me, her eyes like pools of dark chocolate. “I don’t know.”

  I put a hand on her cheek and lowered my lips to hers, using all the restraint I could muster to keep the subtlest space between them, a space as fine as a hair. It was close enough to suggest more, but not so close as to put her out of her misery.

  When she realized I wasn’t going to kiss her, she relaxed into me.

  Then I let her go. “Anyway, I got your email about the samples.”

  She shook her head like she was trying to remember where she was. “Right. And?”

  “And I thought I’d come see them in person because the textures didn’t come through very well in the photos.”

  “Sure.” She turned away from me towards her desk and gathered half the papers into a lose pile, revealing a variety of assorted materials.

  I took a step back so she could set everything out how she wanted.

  Okay,” she said, pointing to two pieces of wood she’d laid side by side. “Which of these do you like better for the floors?”

  “That one,” I said, pointing to the lighter one.

  She shook her head. “New question,” she said, putting the one I picked behind her back and pointing at the one that was left. “How do you like that for the floors?”

  I smiled. “It’s great.”

  “So glad we agree.” She put the wood to the side and put two new pieces of wood in front of me. “Which of those do you like better for the counter on the bar?”

  This time I pointed at the darker one.

  Little creases sprang up around her eyes.

  I raised my eyebrows. “Did I get that one right?”

  She nodded, her dimples dipping into her cheeks. “Okay.” She shuffled some papers and laid them out on the desk. Each showed a bird’s eye view of the club’s downstairs floorplan, but they all had different shapes drawn on them. “Which of these layouts appeals most to you?”

  I squinted. “What am I looking at?”

  “Where we might put the bars.”

  “Oh,” I said, studying them again.

  “The other thing we could do-” she felt around with an open hand until she found a pencil under some of the papers. Then she took the picture that had an L shaped bar along the back corner and drew another small curve across from it on the opposite side of the room. “Is have one smaller bar over here so nothing breaks up the space.”

  “I like that idea.”

  She pursed her lips and stared at the picture.

  I wished I knew what she was thinking, but I suppose then I wouldn’t need a designer.

  “I think that will work,” she said. “Worst case scenario we have to run a pipe under the floor so we can get running water to that location.”

  “Easily done.”

  “Just not cheaply.”

  I shrugged. “You get what you pay for.” Or more when it came to Carrie. I still couldn’t believe she’d agreed to go to the wedding with me.

  “Okay, last question.” She laid a glossy photo that had clearly been ripped from some magazine down on the desk between us. “How do you feel about this chair?”

  I scratched the back of my head. “How do I feel about it?”

  “Yeah. Do you like it?”

  It had a curved back that was covered by a soft looking leather cushion. “It looks comfortable enough.”

  She squinted at me.

  I couldn’t believe how cute her thinking face was.

  “Do you think it looks too comfortable?” she asked. “I don’t want it to be so cozy people will be reluctant to get their asses up t
o the bar or the dance floor.”

  I cocked my head. “It looks about right.”

  “Great,” she said. “I’m not sure it’s the one yet- so don’t get too attached to it- but at least now I have some good ideas to go on.”

  “I’m not really convinced you needed my opinion there at all.”

  She furrowed her brow. “Sure I did.”

  “I think you just wanted me to give you the go ahead on what you already picked.”

  She tilted her head. “Is that a problem?”

  “Not at all,” I said. “I’m actually kind of flattered that you made up an excuse to call me in here.”

  She put a hand on her hip. “I didn’t call you in, Ben. You just showed up.”

  One corner of my mouth curled up. “Aren’t you glad though?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Would you even believe me if I said no?”

  I shook my head. “Probably not.”

  “That’s what I thought.”

  I raised my eyebrows. “We done here then?”

  “Yep.”

  “Great. Then let’s go get you out of those clothes.”

  Chapter 9: Carrie

  It was good to see him. Too good.

  Maybe Brook was right.

  Maybe I was playing with fire.

  I swear to god I’d never second guessed myself so much. Not that it was all my fault. One minute he’d be coming on so strong I thought he might tear my underwear off again, and the next he’d be all business, like it was a game again. Like he could turn his feelings for me on and off with the flick of an invisible switch.

  Which shouldn’t have surprised me so much because it was supposed to be a game.

  And most of the time, it was fun.

  But what happened in the club hadn’t felt like fun. It felt real. It was real.

  He couldn’t have faked being that hard, couldn’t have faked his excitement at getting me in such compromising positions, couldn’t have faked swallowing me down like a man who was dying of thirst.

  He couldn’t have. It was a biological impossibility.

  Right?

  Unfortunately, I wasn’t used to turning my feelings on and off… at least not until recently when Simon flipped a switch inside me so fast I went from loving him to loathing him mixed with misplaced longing in a split second.